


On a Hiding to Nothing

by rustycats



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, M/M, Multi, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, but you vultures will get your smut, daves pov entire time guise, just a little, just wanted a basis yknow, more relationships as they appear, same with characters, sex later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustycats/pseuds/rustycats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a perfect day to be anyone but you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

It was the perfect day to be anyone but you.

It was the perfect day to drive fast and listen to music too loud and kiss girls. _This_ was the day to be alive. The sky was a vibrant blue that seemed to be ripped wide open; it was alive and twisting in infinite directions. Any flora was vivacious and vivid and so, so green, with deep browns and reds and yellows and- it was a remarkable setting for the unremarkable plot of your life.

You survey the crowd around you, wishing for a moment to switch places with any one of them. Just to get out of your own head for a second or two. But you are stuck being you, indefinitely.

Your fingers are tapping along the cash register you're stationed at and you think you're playing a pattern or a song but you aren't that sure. You like patterns. The simple, steady beat of drums has always been really comforting to you. If you didn't have the dexterity of a five year-old, you would have taken it up. However, you're just stuck with your crappy, processed tracks on your turntable. It doesn't have the same natural _thump, thump, thump_ that it would on actual drums, but you like being enveloped in the underlying rhythm. 

But you digress.

You look up out at the window and idly wonder if anyone would miss you if you killed yourself. And, Jesus H. Christ, isn't that dark? Whatever. You don't like to call yourself suicidal, but you probably are anyway- or, at least, you think you are. You think about this a lot. What if you just decided to take too many of your pills, or maybe just go ahead and slice your wrists? You're face contorts in displeasure. You aren't that dramatic. Imagine being the poor person who would have to clean that up, your mind chides you. That would really fucking suck. There would be so much blood, and God, think about how bad the stains would be in your bathroom carpet if no one found you for a few days? No, you're pretty sure if you ever got so bad that you wanted to end it all, it would be with pills. You look out the window and decide that this gorgeous scenery is wasted on a prick like you. It is a perfect day you won't get to experience with your damn near adolescent, pathetic propensity to a young death.

In all honesty, no one would probably find your rotting carcass for at least a couple days. Maybe a week. You don't have a roommate, and all of your neighbors are riddled with either old age or inundated with the dues of parenting small children. No one in your apartment complex even knows you; you're pretty sure they're only vaguely aware of someone renting the third apartment on the fourth floor. If anyone would find you, it would either be your landlord- a grouchy, short man with a permanently hispidulous jaw line- or your coworker, Sollux. He's a pretty cool guy. He'd probably notice you weren't hanging your gangly body at Walmart anymore, attempting to hide behind tall boxes of plasma screens with too much high definition.

Sollux is over in Electronics, helping whatever idiot stepped on their power cord and then whining that it's a problem with the hard drive, and then making Sollux make absolutely sure that it isn't some fault of the device. Still, you don't pity the guy. You think you recall him saying that he was in college with a major in something pertaining to computer programming, and codes some websites for some spare cash on the side to help pay the bills. A couple months before you started working here, Sollux had this crazy near death experience. Somebody shot him, you think, and it completely changed him. He used to be a douche before, a coworker told you, and he still is now, but easily more bearable. A lot calmer, they said.

You heard he also has a girlfriend. 

In a way, you're almost jealous. It would be nice to have a clear direction in your head, a nice solid foundation in something you genuinely wanted to pursue as a career. It probably helps to have some girl support you and hug you along the way. Someone to tell you that you're doing well and reassuring you as you try to make your way in the world. You have your brother and sister, you guess, but it doesn't sound as good as it would from some girl with long hair. You aren't horny, really. You guess you're just sort of lonely. It's strange. In high school, you were the guy girls had crushes on and wrote cheesy letters to. Now, you'd be lucky if some forty year-old with crabs throws you a wink and calls you sugar. But you guess that's just life. And your life includes wearing a dingy blue shirt and white-trash fuckers riding your dick and twelve year-olds trying to buy beer.

"Ahem?"

You look back and see someone is waiting to be checked out, tapping their foot as if that would definitely get their forty-five seconds of inconvenience back. You scan their items without looking and thrust them haphazardly into a slightly ripped plastic bag due to your apathetic bagging. Your eyes glaze over as you say in an easy monotone,

"That will be $14.18."

They mumble under their breath that this is absolutely ridiculous, it's just a movie, how dare it be priced this high? To be honest, you don't really care about how much something as trivial as a customers grumbles. You aren't exactly a people pleaser. Who gives a shit, anyway? You're getting what you wanted. If you can afford it, then it obviously isn't that big of a deal.

The customer hands you a twenty, tells you to not bother with the change. Oh, wow, how generous. This six dollars will definitely feed your family of five tonight. Maybe you can even get this 'Taco Bell' you've heard so much about. This is the best day of your sorry existence. You should get a plaque and hang it on your cash register as a souvenir.

"Do I know you?"

You look up. You never really looked at customers, before. Not really your thing. They all just sort of blend together anyway. The guy standing in front of you has crazy hair that obviously has never met a brush, and would flounder at the mere concept of one. Uneven tan with underlying pale skin. Glasses, kind of tall.

"Unless I was your roofie-dosed date last Valentine's Day, I don't know you."

"Wow, that was really rude."

"That's me. Here's your receipt," you murmur as you hand the white, thin paper to him, which he immediately crumbles up and stuffs into his right pocket.

"No, really. I know you. You look really familiar." He's looking really intensely at your face now. You wish you had your shades on, but no, that just has to be against company policies. Thank God for colored contacts.

Regrettably, though, colored contacts don't hide half of your face like your shades do. You're stuck to be subjected to this guy's ruthless examination of your face, noting every feature in his wake. It's getting kind of freaky.

"Well, I don't know you, so..," you trail off, hoping this guy will just leave. 

"Yeah, I guess," he mumbles, but looks no where near convinced.

He grabs his movie and slowly walks away, turning his head back once to look you over again. You wave curtly, and he seems to get the message and walks the fuck out. You sigh, check the time on your shitty watch that is always an hour and eighteen minutes off. You'd change it, but by now you're used to doing the math. 4:26 p.m. Which would make it actually around six. Your shift doesn't end until eight thirty. You groan under your breath before returning your attention to another customer.


	2. Chapter Two

You stare into the staff's bathroom mirror, your face contorted with fluorescent lighting that makes you resemble a meth addict. You take out your itchy contacts which have been bugging you a lot today, yet make you at least look relatively normal. You like that. Normalness. It's a comforting feeling that you get once in a blue moon. 

Your name is Dave Strider and you are twenty-two years old. Your irises are fortune tellers of fire rain and your pupils are big black holes that drill completely through you. Your hair is sticky and clumps with grease. You don't like to focus on your looks too much, but when you do, you get this uncomfortable feeling in your stomach. You put on sunglasses you've had since the umbilical cord you're sure, and suddenly you feel at least a little bit more secure. Not completely, but it's really better than nothing. 

You walk out of the bathroom and pass your coworkers without the slightest recognition. When you see Sollux you give a terse nod that he returns. That's the closest you'll get to cooperative work ethics, or whatever other shit they shove down your throat. Honestly, didn't they get the memo that absolutely no one _gives_ a rats ass? 

Walking through the parking lot, looking at the people in khakis and polos, you wonder if anyone actually cares about each other. It's like that one quote from somewhere- 'Everyone is the center of their own universe'. It's an easy thing to think, that nobody actually cares about anyone but themselves. It makes you feel better since you aren't really sure how many people care about you, so maybe you're just ignorantly biased. You're jealous. Really, really jealous and this is why you don't want anyone to care about each other because you don't want to be the odd one out. You don't even care about yourself anymore, really. 

_Fuck_ , you're messed up. 

You're walking home in the sweltering heat and it's starting to get to you. You're feeling sweaty and overall pretty repugnant at the moment. Your apartment isn't very far at all, barely stretching a ten minute walk, but it's far enough to annoy the shit out of you. It's dark now and it should not be near this hot but it is, and it wraps and constricts around you like a heavy blanket. At the most, you're uncomfortable, and it shouldn't be that big of a deal, but it's sort of like a cherry on the top of a shit day. Your phone rings in your pocket and you're tempted not to answer, but who are you kidding. You always answer.

"'Sup?" 

"Hello, Dave. It's-"

"What do you want, Rose?" 

You aren't usually this impatient, you swear. You just don't have enough energy after dealing with work and talking to your sister is always exhausting. She's just too much sometimes and you aren't in the mood for another deep cleansing of vocabulary and pyscology. 

"Well. I was only going to ask if you would mind me coming over later? I won't invade your personal space if you don't want me to, but I would really enjoy the visit. I haven't seen you in weeks, Dave. I miss you."

See? This is exactly the reason you moved out. It may seem nice and caring to the untrained eye, but what is really going to happen is Rose looking with unhindered distaste while she looks at your place and hearing her plight to get you back to her loft. Which will lead to 24/7 of _Rose Lalonde's Therapist Sessions for One: Starring Her Under Acheiver Brother_. Fuck no.

Beguiling bitch.

"I do mind. Whole-heartedly. In fact, my entire self has become a mind. It's really amazing. Visualize me, as nothing more than a mind with only minds to give, a mind entity if you will, shutting the door to my apartment with a juxtaposing doormat that says fuck you knitted on it," you spit.

She giggles ridiculously and you wish she was here so you could punch her in the arm. 

"What a way with words you have. Either way, Dave, you have to know you cannot evade me forever. I'm not just a thing that will go away. You need my help. I can guide you, Dave, I can-"

"What, am I incompetent now? I can take care of my God damned self, alright? I'm an adult. I don't need you or Bro riding my ass and telling me what to do and what not to do," you growl as you cross the street, your apartment building now in sight. 

"Jesus, Dave. I'm just saying you do have a predisposition for running away when you over react. I'm not trying to cage you or baby you or whatever else you might suspect. All I ask is for you to look at me as a constant that will never fade from your life. I will always be here to help and encourage you."

Great. Now she's using her self claimed euphonious tone to reign you in. She's the queen of passive aggressive, and while it annoys you, you are actually aware that she is only trying to help. Still, you don't care. So what if you're being immature, you aren't giving in to her freaky mind powers. You swear, she must have taken a bath in radiation as a kid.

"See you in two minutes," you reply with the driest voice you can. You take the gate key out of your pocket and slide it through, opening the metal door and letting it fall closed with a clang. Won't invade your privacy your ass. She's there, you can tell, sitting in your chair and looking at the doorway awaiting your return. You mentally prepare yourself for a long night of probably yelling from you and passive aggressive banter from her that actually hurts you. You plan on being emotionally exhausted for the next couple of days. 

Sluggishly walking now, you trudge your way to your apartment block. Fumbling with your keys, your mind starts to wonder if she had the decency to make dinner. You're fucking starving, and as annoying as she is, Rose can cook a decent enough meal. You can see your window lit up on the fourth floor from here and you sigh. You can see a figure walking around in your living room- however, one that seems oddly tall and bulky for Rose and wait just a God damned second. You scan the parking lot hastily just to make sure and there you go. Dirk's car parked right in front of your place. You groan, you can handle your sister. Not well, but you can deal. You cannot handle both Bro and Rose. Their tag team of practically physical and emotional abuse is not something you can deal with right now.

You stand cluelessly as you try to figure out a half hatched plan. You don't have anyone you can stay with, but going to your apartment is no longer an option. You don't have any money on you to just stay at a hotel, and you sure as hell don't have a car. Fuck. Your mind runs back to your land lord. He isn't the nicest guy in the world, but it's better than the alternative. You hastily walk to the second door on the first floor and send three quick raps against his door. He should be there, at least you hope, because you really don't want to do the walk of shame up to your place. 

A moment later, he actually answers. Thank you, Jesus. His dark face has darker bags under his eyes , and his maw is set in a grim line that says a lot of things you shouldn't in polite company. He's stocky, and hasn't shaved for a while. Hence your aforementioned description of short and hispidulous. Still, he's there and he might look into his tiny dark heart and help you out. 

"'Sup, Karkat."

"What do you want? Is there something wrong with your air-conditioning again?" His voice made you laugh the first time you heard it; high, clear, and slightly feminine. Little bit of an accent.

"Uh, no. It's uh-it's good. No, I just... I need a place to stay." You choke out, albeit awkwardly.

"And you have one," his voice is laced with impatient agitation and it makes you pale a bit.

"No, uh, I can't go in there right now."

His brow furrows. "What? Is there some fucking raccoon up there or some shit? Why the hell can't you go up there?"

"No, the apartment is fine."

"Then what's the problem?"

"My siblings are up there."

He tries to slam the door in your face, but you stick your foot in the way.

"Fuck you. Go to your own apartment you cock-sucking prick," he hisses. Wow. Ouch.

"Come on, Karkat, _please_."

"Um, actually no fucking way. Find someone else."

"Come on! I always pay my rent on time!"

"You're fucking late this month, asshole!"

"Okay, mostly."

"You're late _every_ month."

"Okay, true, but I really need you to help me out. Just this once, I swear." 

He looks at you with big dark eyes and he actually looks like he cares. You try as hard as possible to look pathetic, which you already do naturally, but you amp it up. He takes a deep sigh before opening his door. 

"You're lucky I'm a pushover," he grumbles, and while you don't necessarily agree, you are not about to say shit. You give him a half smile.

"Thanks, man."

"Just shut the fuck up. Sleep in the guest room, I guess. Don't annoy me, don't annoy my friends, eccetera eccetera. Basically just contain your mighty douchieness for one magical evening. Open the gates of hell if you need to. Just fuck off and don't make me change my mind."

You nod, walking out of the living room and heading off to the direction of the guest bedroom. It's pretty nice, but Karkat takes care of the building so you aren't exactly surprised. Your phone starts ringing, but you quickly shut it off and make a not of it not to check your messages later. Around ten minutes later, you can hear the rustle of the door and people coming inside. You hear muffled talking and chortles and you put your hands on your face. Jesus Christ, even Karkat has more friends than you. 

You open the door, slowly walking out and give a shy nod to Karkat. He glares at you intensely as you mime drinking water. He accepts it, and even though you aren't thirsty, you sure as hell planning on getting some water now. And it should help with your raging hunger, which you yourself had forgotten, but your stomach definitely had not. You notice he has a girl in his room and you wonder if they're together, alone, and wanting it to stay that way, before you see the other guy, sitting with his back facing you. The girl is really hot. Angled, sharp face and short, styled hair. Pretty tall with big thighs, but you could get into that. She looks away from the television screen and up at you, giving you a small smile. The light ricochets of her large eyes and makes them seem bigger.

" _God_ damn it, John! You're fucking hunting! Not taking the Millers on their six week vacation to Hawaii!" 

You snap out of checking out Hot Chick(thenceforth her name in your mind at least), and actually look at what they're doing. Grand Theft Auto V. You know what they're doing. It's a hunter/runner game, and whoever is the other person online is laughing their proverbial ass off. You remember that the point is for one player to be in a jet and hunt for the opposing player on a bike and shoot them down. John, apparently, is cruising in a jet with very sub par flying skills reminiscent of you after you had your wisdom teeth removed. Karkat is barking orders at him, and whoever they're versing seems to be escaping via dirt bike. In the time of you standing there, John has fired five missiles and crashed into a sloping hill. 

"Jesus, why did I ever let you touch the damn controller, you cunt drip. Christ. This should be considered blasphemy. You are going to be excommunicated, you shitty glob of fuck," Karkat hisses as he snatches the controller out of John's hands, earning a discontented whine from him. Hot Chick is still looking at you.

"Karkat," holy fucking _shit_ that voice could melt butter, "who is your friend standing in the corner?"

John whips his head back at you and frowns deeply, crossing his arms. His hair looks a little familiar to you. He sounds insulted when he says,

"You're that asshole cashier that I know from somewhere."

"What?

"The guy who bought that movie from you? I said I knew you from somewhere? You were kind of rude?"

Oh. Yeah. You guess you just. Sort of forgot about that. It isn't your fault; you interact with people everyday. You aren't going to remember every person, even if they did talk to you for long enough to move past 'don't bag that, please'. You give him a noncommittal shrug and he scoffs, returning his attention back to the television. 

"I swear, I know you, man. Trust me."

You don't know what to say to that, so you just don't say anything.

"Yeah, well, I know him. And Kanaya, he's some ass-licking douche bag from the fourth floor. Won't go to his own God damn apartment," he whips his sooty face to you, "didn't you want water?"

You flounder, awkwardly nodding and absconding the area quickly. You get into his kitchen area and make a guess for glasses. You open a cabinet, and, miraculously, they're glasses. You quickly fill it with water and realize that you are probably going to be staying in the guest room for the rest of the night. Maybe, with some luck, you'll be able to crash for a couple of hours-wait. Fuck. You forgot. Your sleeping pills are still in your medicine cabinet and getting them now is an absolute no-no. Even if you were able to sneak past both Rose and Bro, which is in the negative percent, as soon as you leave there is no sorry way in hell Karkat is going to let you back in. You're regrettably stuck with a future of tracing shapes in the asbestos for a few hours and hating yourself tomorrow morning. You take a drink of your water and sigh deeply.

You give a nod to Kanaya-both Karkat and John are completely absorbed in the game now-and she gives you her sweet, small smile back. She seems really nice. Like the sort of person you want petting your hair at two in the afternoon or some other hipster shit like that. She just gives off this energy like she actually cares and you wish you had someone like that in your life. You tip your glasses at her and waggle your eyebrows, which makes her giggle and you half smile as you go back in the guest room and wonder what you're even doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what am i even writing


	3. Chapter Three

You don't really wake up the next morning.

It's just one of the wonderous pleasures that is being you. If anything, you just slowly realize that it is not two in the morning but now the time that you could really use a cup of coffee. Probably seven or so. The guest bed is really fucking comfy, at least, and it makes you not want to get up but just spend the rest of eternity pressing your bony ass into Karkat's comforter. But you figure you've traced enough shapes in the ceiling to last a life time. 

You push yourself up, legs weak and really shaky as you slowly make your way to the door. You crawl out of the guest room and make a quick survey of the living room. Kanaya is curled up on the floor, and her lipstick is smudged, but still looks overall bangable and pretty composed for being unconscious. For whatever reason, it reminds you of Rose, who looks like a fucking unattractive, messy disaster when she's asleep. Hilarious whenever she had sleepovers. Her friends couldn't believe it and teased her about it incessantly. Karkat is cuddling-no, really, cuddling- on the couch with John. John's hair actually looks worse, if that's possible. Karkat's face is squished against John's shoulder and John seems to be smiling about it. In a weird way, it's sort of cute. 

Still, you're definitely not hanging around. You slip out the front door, creep up the stairs and make your way up to the fourth floor and enter your apartment quickly. That was surprisingly painless. You wonder if you have any coffee left. You really don't want to go and pick some up, and you don't really want to go to Starbucks, either. Still, you need caffine now, and-

A slow pouring noise alerts and reminds you of your idiocy, because how did you not think to check if Bro's fucking car was still there? God. Stupid. You take a deep breath and prepare yourself. Low and behold, Rose is pouring out two cups of premade coffee- and okay, you can admit that she can be a fucking sweetheart occasionally- with a small smile on her face. Her dark eyelashes fan out on her high cheeks and her skin is paler than you remember. She's wrapped up in one of your blankets, and when she looks up, her stark violet eyes scare you for a second. Her smile widens and pinches her cheeks.

"Hey, Dave," she whispers like your name's a secret. You give her a half smile anyway and take one of the mugs from her hands. You slam yourself down on the couch and pat the space next to you. Rose, much more gracefully than you, as always, sits down, crossing her legs and pulling the blanket closer to her.

"Where's Bro?"

"Not here. I sent him out at about three. I figured you would prefer not to be 'attacked' this early in the morning. Where did you stay? You don't have any friends in the building, do you?"

You take a sip of the coffee. Bitter and black. "Fuck you, Rose, and as a matter of fact, one of my best buds is the land lord of the place."

An eyebrow raises as she takes a sip. "Hmm. What's his name?"

"Karkat. He's a pretty adorable little fucker. Sweetest guy I know. Hilarious, too, had my stomach splitting so hard I had to go and get it stapled. 'S how I maintain my girlish figure. See, Karkat's helping me pursue my dream of becoming a male model. I already have photoshoots and runway shit. In fact, I had one with Italian Vogue last night, that's why I couldn't enjoy your visit last night. Give Bro my regards."

She's fighting a smile, and you punch her in the arm. Nothing to hard, just a warning, but you're fighting a smile, too. Then it's ten minutes of you both drinking your coffee and you fighting Rose for some of the blanket. Eventually, she gives in, but as you warm yourself in the fuzzy material, she pulls her uncharacteristically bare lip between her teeth and you know that she's getting down to business now. It pisses you off, you were starting to let yourself enjoy this.

"You haven't been the same for a while now, Dave," she whispers. You hate that she's trying to be gentle.

"Yeah. Called changing, adapting. Humans do that."

"I know that this is about Terezi, Dave."

You swallow hard and glare at her from behind your shades, and while anyone else wouldn't notice it, she can see past it and is aware that you're giving her a cold look. It's a warning for her to back the fuck off. She shifts to face you, setting aside her mug. You wish she would take a hint.

"I know she left and I understand it was hard. Listen, though. You were with her for over a year," _a year three months and two days_ ," Dave, I know that seems like a long time, but it really isn't in the grand scheme of things. You need to get back up. It doesn't have to affect you so deeply. It isn't that bad. And you broke up with her, Dave. It was your choice."

You make the rash decision to push Rose, hard, against the arm of the sofa. You mouth is curled up. She looks sort of hurt, but who gives a damn.

"Back the fuck off, Rose."

"I'm trying to understand. Did you love her? Do you still? Is this what that is about? I-"

"Of course I loved her, and fuck you for thinking otherwise. Loved her from the moment I saw her. But she's just some duplicitious bitch, not to mention crazy. Her damn fault, not mine."

Rose frowns. "No."

"'The hell do you mean, 'no'? I would know, okay? One of her friends, close friend, too, told me she was. She's fucking crazy."

"You don't get to say she's crazy just because it didn't work out. Be better than that. David, you should not make your thoughts and feelings apocryphal due to feeble gossip. Just accept you were hurt and move on."

Oh, fuck her, fuck her intrusiveness, and fuck her for calling you David, oh God. "Jesus, Rosalind, why don't you mind your own business for once? I'm fine. I won't let one person rule my life, okay? I'm over her. Pretty sure she moved on, too, she's with someone else now, anyway."

Rose is glaring now. She's pissed. Good. "You're depressed, Dave. Maybe it isn't just about Terezi, and I'm sorry for assuming that. Maybe you have some deeper issues. Just, God, have you expressed any suicidal thoughts? Have you contemplated suicide? Just... do you want to die?"

 _Yes._ "No, Rose, good God I'm not in a soap opera. You know what? Get the fuck out. Get. Go. Now." 

Her mouth is pressed tight. She stands, and she's still in her clothes from yesterday. For a second, you're bewildered to see that Rose owns a pair of jeans. 

"Fine, Dave, but one day, you won't have anyone to help you anymore," she hisses, and she stomps towards the door. For another second, you want to laugh at the fact that she's having a God damn tantrum.

"Good. That's the way I want it. Now get."

"I am!"

"Good!"

"Good!" And then the door slams and you're all alone and you wish you could take pleasure in that. 

You're fuming, ireful, and you grab the blanket and scream. It's pretty imature, and the blanket doesn't absorb the sound the way a pillow would. You feel kinda stupid. You sit, taking in the moment. You're still boiling, but it's buried underneathe a thick, globby layer of regret and a thicker desire for sleep. You push yourself up and trudge to your bathroom. You lay your sunglasses on the top of the toilet. You open the medicine cabnit, twist off the top of the pill bottle and grab an unknown amount of pills and swallow them dry. You feel washed out. Barely there. Sort of just floating around, but when you look in the mirror, your eyes are the most vibrant and rabid thing you've ever seen, next to her hair. Of course, then you're flooded with thoughts of her. You close your eyes, rub your them and wish for a second you could be wall paper. Unnoticed yet appreciated. That'd be nice.

You slump your way over to your bed. falling down on your bare mattress and dream of a small, pointed girl with blazing hair and pretty, pretty glass eyes. You sleep, and for a while, it's good.

***

You wake up to rapping on the door. Quick, uniterrupted rapping and you groan, what the fuck? You swear to God, Rose is the most stubborn God damn bitch you've ever met. 

You look at your clock on your nightstand. A little after one. At least you got some hours in, plus your off today. You were going to try seeing the world through rose colored glasses, though now that just seems ironic. Heh. You almost laugh at that.

Still, you get up, annoyed, and prepare what you're going to say to Rose. A lot of not so nice language filled with some rants in between. Perfect. You swing open the door, looking down to meet her gaze, but are instead met with a broad chest. You have to look up slightly to see some guy with glasses standing there, a little awkward. His name fails you. Uh, James? Jared? Oh, shit, yeah, John. John stands there awkward.

"Uh, hey," you say. Why the hell is he here? He remains standing there. 

"Um, can I ask why you're here? I didn't leave a mess at Karkat's place, did I? Because, I swear, if I did, I'll go back there and clean it up and...," and your voice trails off because John's face went from awkward to downright shocked.

What the hell? "What are you looking at?"

He turns a bright pink. "Oh, I-I'm sorry, man, it's j-just... _wow_ , your eyes are really red!"

Your brow furrows before you feel the small contacts package in your back pocket and you remember that you put your glasses on the top of the toilet and _holy fucking shit he sees your eyes_. Chill, Dave. It's not a big deal. It is not a big deal. Regrettably you turn a little red.

"Yeah, they're, uh, naturally like that." _Don't freak out don't freak out don't freak out._

He gets a huge grin on his face. "That's so cool! They're awesome! Is that why you were wearing those lame shades last night?"

Oh, hell no. "Uh, excuse you. My shades are rad, man. They are the coolest. Completely cool. So cool you get fucking hypothermia."

He snorts, and you'll admit that it is sorta cute. "Wow, you're lame for someone with such cool eyes. Hey, wait a minute. You didn't have red eyes at Walmart." He's pouting, jeez, is this guy some overgrown puppy or what?

"Yeah, I wear colored contacts when I work. Keeps people from asking questions, you feel me?"

Another big smile. "Yeah, I get that! But they are really cool. Just. Wow."

Okay, he's just staring at your face now and you'd be lying if you said your face temperature didn't raise about thirty degrees.

"Um, yeah, d-did you want something?" God, you're so uncool, stuttering, look at him, even a dork like John is smirking at you. (Also, 'so cool you get hypothermia'? That one statement has officially made John the cool one in this conversation and you can't even resent him for that.)

"Yeah, you left your work badge! Karkat told me you lived here, and I also pulled the short end of the stick, so I had to get up and give it to you."

"Jesus, man, you don't just tell a guy that," you say as you swipe the dumb badge from his hand. He smirks at you. Again.

"Yeah, well if I hadn't, then I wouldn't have gotten to see super cool eyes."

Jesus. Dork. But you're fighting a smile, none the less. "Yeah, good for you. You win. First place, gold medal, take it back to your country and celebrate with a bountiful feast to feed you and your village for three days. Choke on a turkey leg and enjoy it because it's the first time anyone has eaten meat in your sad, impoverished country."

He snorts again. "You're kinda funny."

"And you're kinda funny looking. We make a perfect pair."

"Hey! I am not."

"Um, yes. Do you know what a mirror is, John? Or have they all shattered in your presence, as they should?"

He smiles. "Ha, ha, man. Karkat's right. You are a douche."

You gasp, leaning against the door. "As I live and breathe, Johnathan. I know I clean out the ladies well and all, but don't reduce me to some flimsy water-based solution. I'm better than that."

"Ew! What does that even _mean_?"

"I'll tell you when you're older."

He smiles again. "I should get back." You give him a smirk; closest you're coming to a full out smile.

"Do that."

He turns to leave, before hesitating and turning right back around. 

"Do you have a pesterchum?"

You shrug. You don't really use it, but it is there. Still, you say yes and rattle off your user name. You ask him why he wants to know, and he gives you another big smile that you're already getting sort of used to.

"You're kind of funny," is all the reason he gives you before disappearing down the flight of stairs. 

You smile to yourself. See that, Rose? You can totally make friends. You spend the rest of the day watching movies and relishing your small victory in your head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry i havent posted in a while but im back and ill stay back ahhh gomen


	4. Chapter Four

You like to think about being a jellyfish. You could roam the ocean, emerged in the deep blue. Being a jelly fish, you would trap and paralyze the fuck out of anyone that tries to mess with you. Maybe you could be a Man of War. You read somewhere that they can kill you. You'd like to have that sort of power, but you guess you do now and it isn't making much of a difference. 

But you're not a jellyfish.

You're you and your brain hasn't had a coherent thought since you got to your cash register you don't know why you should care. 

Your phone has buzzed a couple more times but, again, you don't really care. That's sort of a key part of your personality these days. You've sort of become a t-shirt that's been washed too many times. Lame comparison, sure, but you're pretty lame nowadays. It's a slow day at work and you've engaged with maybe five people in the last three hours. You see, this is the sort of mundane shit you live for. Your exciting life. Filled with adventure and annoying siblings. Your life has become this shitty soap opera no one would watch and would probably be cancelled after season three, where your dynamic and gorgeous love interest finally started hinting at a relationship with you, and your twin's evil plot to take over your life was coming together. Maybe your father finally accepted you and your step-mom apologized for neglecting you in those tender years of adolescence. Maybe your uncle finally admitted _he_ was your real father all along(a shocking plot twist still resented by most viewers). 

And this is why you really shouldn't be left alone with yourself. Really, it's a miracle you aren't dead or a grocery-store book author by now. You notice it's _finally_ time for your lunch break and you basically bolt from your station. Yeah, fuck that noise. Anything to get out of WalMart makes a little giddy. You check your phone; you have five new notifications, all from Bro. 

Bro: Rose and I are waiting at your place. 

Three missed calls.

Bro: Look, I get your having a hard time but pull your head out of your ass and get your shit together. Back off Rose, she's trying to help.

Jesus. Is he kidding? What an ass. 'Get your shit together'. My fucking lord. That is downright iconic coming from that ass wipe. He's just as fucked up as you, damn, probably worse. Yet he has the gull to call you on your shit? Of _course_ he does. He's like that. As long as it's not directed at him, everything is fair game. You remember when you were growing up, still a sassy prepubescent youth and ever-so-ignorant, you'd call him on literally everything, leading to a variety of of unnecessary strifes. He was the one who raised you, and he was the one to put you in your place, painful physical lesson included. Maybe your fault, but you're sure that he could have handled the situation like an, you know, _adult_. Asshole.

You're starting to realize your stomach is beginning to eat itself and try to remember if there's any cheap places to eat in this vicinity. You'd just go home, but you don't have anything in your fridge except for one iffy looking apple and some pesto you mean to throw out from spaghetti night a couple of weeks ago.

Suddenly, you look up and see Sollux in his car making eye contact with you. His dirty blond hair is sticking up with cowlicks on each side and he looks a thousand times to tall for his tiny car. He motions for you to come over, which you do. Like you mentioned earlier, you like him. He's pretty rad. Doesn't say much, doesn't question much. Rad guy. Sollux rolls down his window and inspects you. You figure you look pretty desolate, he's giving you a pitiful look and he isn't exactly known for his pity. 

"Need a ride, Strider?" He's got this lisp that's almost annoying but also strangely familiar. 

"Nah, man, I ain't goin' anywhere. I'm just on my lunch, think I'll just chill here. Your shift just end?"

He nods. "You know they have food in the break room?"

Shrugging, you make a meh sort of noise. Food is weird with you. You want it, but it's hard to keep down. Especially with fluorescent lighting. 

"Okay, man. Well, I'm just gonna take a smoke before heading out. Wanna join?" 

You hop in the passenger side and he hands you a cigarette after lighting it. You take a long drag, satisfying in the bitter taste and the welcome hurt in your lungs. For a minute you're ecstatic and you hold the pain down in your body. Fuck, that's nice. You should mention you don't smoke often and are very against it in practice, but almost nothing feels as good to you as it does. Jesus you're fucked up. 

"Woah, fuck man, don't take it all in one drag! Jesus Christ, you that eager to fuckin' stand alone in the god damn parking lot?"

"Ah, nah, man I just ain't partaken in one of these in a long time."

"Yeah, I can fuckin' see that. Fuck, and blow it out the window. My girlfriend hates this shit."

You comply. "Who's your girlfriend?" Why are you asking this? You don't care. 

"Aradia Megido."

"Never met 'er." 

"She's an archaeology major."

"Cool."

Five minutes of silence as you both enjoy the smokes. You like quiet. Or at least, you've grown to. You used to rant and speak whatever dumb shit that popped up in your mind, almost like you couldn't help it. You're glad you've outgrown that-

"Do you think it would be cool to be, like, a jellyfish?" What the fuck are you doing? He doesn't care, God, nobody cares. What the fuck is wrong with you, what a stupid fucking question. How do you even respond to that? How do you _want_ him to respond to that?

"Like the ones in the ocean?"

"What do you mean 'in the ocean'? Where the hell are jellyfish supposed to be? The desert?"

"Shit, I was just wondering if I was like in captivity or some crap like that. Like, am I in an aquarium?"

Ugh. Your face feels hot and you're really embarrassed, why did you have to ask that? That came totally left wing. Dumb ass.

"Ah, forget it, dude. It was just a joke. I gotta go," you mumble, slinking out of the car. You accidentally slam the door while shutting it and you wonder if you could make any more of an ass of yourself. 

"Jeez, be more butt hurt. Sorry I couldn't answer your stupid question the way you wanted."

Your back is turned to him and you lift a hand and wave back to him. You hear him scoff and drive away. You plant your sweet ass down on the sidewalk bordering WalMart and pull out your phone. You're jonesing for company and wishing you hadn't been so dismissive to Sollux. God, you hope you didn't ruin one of the only almost friendships you have.

You used to have a lot of friends. But that was before you kind of wanted to abscond the whole being alive situation which frankly put a damper on their spirits, and then dropping you like a sac of shit. That metaphor doesn't even makes sense to you. Who is holding a sac of shit?

Deciding you're weird as shit and shrugging, because really who even cares at this point, you look through your contacts and there is definitely no one you're interested in talking to. Rose, Bro, Tere-you open Pesterchum and scan over a couple of old high school friends' handles and you wrinkle your nose. You don't have anything in common with any of them anymore. You used to be loud and obnoxious and funny and you sort of miss your personality. You miss when your mind didn't get into ruts and you could bounce back from being sad easier. 

You spy one that you don't have memorized. _John_ , your brain supplies. He's okay, new, but okay. You start a chat. 

turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering  ectoBiologist [EB] at 12:46

TG: so what are your thoughts on jellyfish johnny boy

Fucking. Again.

EB: who is this?

TG: im offended

TG: its your bottom bitch

TG: the one you spend the fat stacks on

EB: okay, now i'm really confused. is this a prank?

TG: dave

EB: oh! that explains the stupid jokes. 

TG: oh wow john how original

TG: insults

TG: never even saw that one coming 

TG: flew right by me

TG: but really what are your thoughts on the manner of jellyfish

EB: jellyfish? like the ones in the ocean?

TG: why does everyone keep asking that do people expect me to say like

TG: no obviously not the ones in trees of course

TG: does everyone need confirmation that yes jellyfish are in fact indigenous to the ocean

TG: or are they just ubiquitous to land and im the only one out of the loop

EB: ...

EB: you mean you've been asking this to more than one person?

TG: john oh my god no 

TG: thats weird

TG: well now just two people

EB: oh my god.

TG: its been on my mind is all like how fuckin chill would it be to be one

TG: be in the ocean and swim around all day

TG: do that spinny thing with your tentacles

TG: gettin all them jellyfish honeys chilling with octopi and shit

TG: stingin white kids who get to close to ya

TG: you could be a man of war and kill that white kid

TG: another angelic soul lost

TG: maybe next time white children will listen to their mothers and not stray so far from the beach

EB: one, aren't you white? two, jellyfish don't have tentacles. three, that's not a jellyfish. you literally just went on a rant about jellyfish and gave an example of a siphonophore. 

TG: what did you just say to me

TG: what the fuck is a siphowhore and can i find one on craigslist

EB: dude for a jellyfish lover you don't know jack shit. a siphonophore appears to be a single organism, but each specimen is actually a colony composed of many individual animals.

EB: most colonies are long, thin, transparent pelagic floaters. a lot of siphonophores only superficially resemble jellyfish, dude

TG: well hot damn boys it looks like we got ourselves a city slicker 

TG: a college boy

TG: a professor xavier in the making

TG: droppin some knowledge on my ignorant ass

EB: psshh. i'm studying biology if you couldn't immediately tell by my handle. also did you reference x-men because i bought first class from you at walmart?

TG: you bought what from who

TG: i literally have no memory of that ever happening

EB: how is your memory such piss

TG: r u d e

TG: i just have trouble remembering stuff like that

TG: maybe you remember me because of my charm and good looks and i just can't say the same for you

EB: ah, yes. the charm of a ninety pound short white boy with greasy hair

EB: how alluring

TG: dont knock it till you try it

TG: also 

TG: fuck you i look fly as hell

EB: is this where i'm supposed to say, 'pretty fly for a white guy'?

EB: also: you're weird

TG: john how dare you what if my mother heard that

TG: are you going to stand there and make a grown woman cry

You both go on like that for a while until you realize your lunch break has been over for five minutes. You decide you like talking to John, he reminds you of what your personality used to be like. Things are easy, you don't need to force a conversation. You roll your eyes, this is literally the first conversation lasting longer than a minute that you've had with him. Still, it's nice to have a potential friend. 

TG: hey man its been memorable but i gotta bail

TG: work and shit ya feel me

EB: no and i don't really want to. bye!

TG: hasta la vista

turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist[EB] at 1:07

You pry yourself off the sidewalk, ass now expectantly numb, and sulk back into the soul sucking abyss of your job. Your stomach growls forlornly and you realize you didn't even get yourself food. This is why you should be left alone to yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am not good at updating *jazz hands*

**Author's Note:**

> gomen i am bad @ writing and updating but if u like it ill try hard,,
> 
> <3


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